


Promise me

by noicle



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Angst, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 22:16:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1202527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noicle/pseuds/noicle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events surrounding Doctor Connors and Oscorp transpired, Peter hasn't been doing so peachy.<br/>Taking a long walk is his first step towards feeling less like a lump of shit, but he gets more than he bargained for when he treks into a shady part of town and runs into a creepy guy in a spandex suit who can't seem to separate reality from fantasy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promise me

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first Spideypool fic and I'm not one hundred percent sure how well I did with it. I don't really want to be the judge though so read ahead and leave me feedback if at all possible.

_“I was wrong about you, Peter”_

_The words resounded in his head loud and clear, pushing out every thought aside from the inevitable._

_“This city needs you”_

_But it doesn’t. It doesn’t. Not if it’s just going to result in death. Not if everyone can’t be saved._

_“Here, you’re going to need this”_

_That mask shouldn’t be in his blood stained hands, a responsibility that heavy can’t be trusted with someone like him. Someone incapable of being a hero. He’s not a hero._

_“You’re going to make enemies”_

_The only threat, only enemy in his eyes is himself._

_“People will get hurt”_

_They have._

_“Sometimes people closest to you”_

**_They have._ **

_“So I want you to promise me something, okay?”_

_Don’t._

_“Leave Gwen out of this”_

_Please._

_“Promise me that”_

_He can’t._

_“Huh?”_

_Not the one person left. Not her._

_“You promise me”_

_He nods._

\- - -

This isn’t the first time Peter has awoken to the chilled air of a far too early morning. He brings his hands up to scrub at his bleary eyes as the sheets pool around his abdomen in a tangled heap. Ever since the events surrounding Doctor Connors and Oscorp, he hasn’t been able to sleep. And it’s not so much due to the nightmares, because in truth, they aren’t nightmares at all. It’s a constant string of memories, of voices playing over and over in the confines of his head. George Stacy’s in particular. The moment before his death, the moment Peter listened to a dying man’s final wishes, was about when the realisation sunk in. Unlike the heroes in movies, you can’t save everyone. You can’t save everyone and you don’t get the girl. You don’t get a fairy tale ending, and the sooner you accept that the better off you’ll be. Which is what Peter has been trying, and ultimately failing, to do.

Scratching a hand through his hair towards the back of his head, Peter cast his eyes towards the blinds in front of his window. The glass behind them had been pushed aside to let air into his room, and so the sound of rain wasn’t being muffled and instead was curling around him, dipping into his ears and under his skin, encircling him to drown out the screaming silence pounding hard against his skull. It seems to be raining a lot recently. Or maybe Peter’s just paying more attention to it than usual. He used to like the rain, but seeing the endless black umbrellas and the tortured faces put him off. Seeing her lift that contraption of plastic and metal away only to reveal tear streaked skin and a confused expression because _he wasn’t there,_ was too much. The guilt was and still is chewing away at his insides, and soon, he figures, there won’t be much left aside from the outer shell that once was ‘Peter Parker’.

Remembering the previous day’s conversation with Aunt May, Peter forces himself up and out of his bed, stumbling his way into the connecting bathroom in the dark.

_His head snapped to the side upon an almost inaudible knock at his door, his shoulders tensing for a brief moment before slackening as a quiet sigh escapes his lips._

_“Aunt May?” His hoarse voice sounds awful against the tranquillity of the rain outside._

_There’s no response for a good few seconds until the knob on the door is turning and the hinges are creaking as it’s pushed open. Through the warm light pooling over wooden flooring stepped a woman that reverberated family and stability, of safety and love, her brown curls falling over her shoulders around her collar bones as the corners of dark eyes crinkle and glossy lips twitch into a smile._

_“Peter, honey” She starts, knitting her fingers together at her front._

_“I know things have been…Difficult, to say the least. But an entire week off school is pushing it”_

_There’s another moment of silence before May Parker is breathing out and pushing on._

_“At least come out of your room, Peter” She adds with a tad more force, her brows creasing._

_When she’s met with silence yet again, she huffs and closes the space between herself and the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress._

_“I don’t know what to do”_

_“Give me time” Has his voice always been that fragile sounding?_

_May seems shocked to receive anything in the form of a reply, her attention locking to Peter’s face._

_“You say give you time, but all time’s doing is making things worse. Peter I’m not going to sit here and watch you kill yourself!”_

_“Kill myself? I’m not going to kill myself”_

_“You know exactly what I mean. Look at you!” She gestures to his entirety._

_Silence hits them again, but this time they both let it wash over them. They stay there in the dull light of Peter’s room, staring at one another until Peter can’t take it anymore and has to avert his gaze._

_“I’ll try” Is the last thing said, and seems to be what sates May, because she rises, smiles softly, and takes her leave._

Staring at his reflection in the basin mirror is, admittedly, more than a little bit daunting. The dark circles bruised into the pale skin under his eyes and the dead expression on his face sends chills up his spine. He didn’t think he could look this terrible. Carefully turning on the tap, Peter presses his hands under the flow of the cold water, filling his palms before leaning down to splash it against his face. It doesn’t do much aside from wake him up, but that’s fine.

Half an hour of showering and dressing later, Peter is downstairs hauling his backpack over his shoulder and silently clicking open the front door. He makes it out onto the front porch before his legs freeze up and his hands curl into fists at his sides. Maybe leaving is a bad idea. What if he runs into someone? Someone like Gwen. He wouldn’t know where to start explaining, or when to stop apologizing. Before he can change his mind though, he’s forcing his way down the steps and out onto the street. The hood of his jacket is pulled up over his head to shield his face from the rain as much as possible without an umbrella as he trudges onward, shoes making wet splashes with each step against the cement pathway.

\- - -

He doesn’t know for how long he walks, or how far. All he knows is that he’s lost, and this part of town is probably going to get him in a lot of trouble, or worse. The rain is still beating down against his shoulders, though now it’s significantly heavier, and more on the side of little daggers piercing through his clothes and slicing at his skin rather than pleasant icy droplets sliding off his jacket.

Speak of the devil though, just as he walks past a shady looking alleyway entrance, some creepy looking thug steps in front of him. He goes to turn on his heel only to receive a face full of pectoral muscles, and saying he jumped back faster than a bullet train was probably an understatement.

Why is it that when you have superpowers, you still end up in situations like these? You’d think it’d give off this whole ‘oOoh beware of the superhuman lunatic’ vibe, but no of course not. It’s a damn danger magnet in itself.

One of the thugs takes a swing at him, flinging their tacky gold ring covered fist in the general direction of Peter’s nose. He ducks though, quickly sliding under the guy’s arm and as far away as he can get before the dude realises he’s just hit his lackey instead of his prey. Turning himself to face the scene behind him, Peter was expecting to see two angry dudes licking at his heels with a taste for his blood, but instead he’s graced with the sight of both the thugs sprawled out on the pavement all battered and beat. They’re out cold, and Peter’s mouth falls agape. What the hell?

A throat clears behind him and Peter spins back around, looking for the source of the sound whilst bracing for another fight. What he finds isn’t another rugged looking street punk, but instead a very upside-down red spandex clad masculine figure ushering him forward. He doesn’t like the idea of it, but he complies, more out of curiosity than anything though. He slowly steps forward until he’s about a foot away from where the guy is hanging off the side of a fire escape platform. God knows how though, considering the downpour. It’s not pretty either, and it sure as hell isn’t graceful.

“I’m waiting” The male drawls impatiently, his voice surprisingly high for someone of his build.

“Excuse me?” Peter offers, his eyebrows raising in confusion as his lips press into a firm line.

“Oh c’mon kid. Y’know the whole traditional Spiderman kiss sequence? Hero saves some poor innocent lady from a bunch of thugs, hangs upside-down to surprise her from behind and BAM she kisses him in gratitude or whatever!” His arms are flailing about as he rambles on animatedly almost too quickly for Peter to follow.

From what he can gather though, this strange guy is claiming to have saved him, and is now demanding some sort of…compensation?

“Uh…”

“Look, even if you ain’t no beautiful big breasted babe I’ve always wanted to try the whole upside-down thing and well, beggars can’t be choosers if you know what I mean” The fabric around where the man’s mouth should be stretches in what Peter assumes is him grinning underneath the mask as he chuckles away to himself.

“You’re kidding right?” Taking a step back, Peter eyes the man with bewildered astonishment.

This has to be the last thing he’d been expecting to deal with upon leaving his room for the first time in a little over a week. God running into Gwen would be less distasteful at this stage.

“Why would I joke?” You can practically hear the smug smile in his voice.

That’s about the point where Peter turns himself around and makes to high tail it out of there. He’ll have to make a mental note to not get distracted when walking so in future he won’t end up in messed up parts of town.

He gets to the end of the street before there’s a hand clasping down over his shoulder, reeling him back against a firm broad chest. He’s about to protest when another hand slides up his throat to his chin, pulling his head backwards until he can see the red of the man’s mask hovering over him. The fabric is hitched up over his nose bringing his mouth into view along with an excess of scars splaying out across every inch of visible skin. Peter’s eyes widen and he doesn’t say a word. And then there’s rough lips against his, not moving but pressing with what Peter can only assume to be hesitance and insecurity, not something he’d have expected from this strange man, but what he receives from him none the less. It ends within a heartbeat, and the warmth behind him disappears just as quickly. Peter doesn’t watch as the man vanishes, nor does he move from his position in the rain for the next several minutes until it occurs to him that he has absolutely no idea what just transpired.

Perhaps some research is in order.

(Something along the lines of ‘who in the hell sucked face with me in the rain?!’ quite possibly)


End file.
